A Birthday To Remember
by unsaidcloud
Summary: When Nadia Mallefont's father is kidnapped on her birthday she seeks out the famous Sherlock Holmes. Little does she know that her Father is now involved in a plot involving Moriarty and the Queen. Will Moriarty's crimes catch up with him or will Sherlock's reign finally come to an unexpected end?
1. Chapter 1

For the fourth day in a row, London found itself drenched in rain. The puddles on the road, murky and muddled from the mixture of mud and oil which had been left behind from the cars that drove it every day.  
As it grew dark, marking the end of another cold Summer's day, a light from the shop window at Mallefont's Bodyworks illuminated the footpath. On the other side of that window sat a small brown haired girl, waiting excitedly for her father. At eight years old Nadia Mallefont was a curious, bright, Scottish girl. Well on the way to becoming a very successful woman. She sat on the edge of the counter and stared at the front door with a smile.  
Her grin widened as she watched her father enter the room with a large gift completely wrapped up in silver paper.  
"Happy Birthday to my baby girl." Nadia's father leant forward and picked her up off of the bench top, placing her on the ground next to her present. He felt quite proud of himself he watched his daughter admire the bicycle he had made her.  
"Daddy, it's perfect. This is everything I've ever wanted." She turned away from the fluoro pink contraption and hugged her father.  
Mallefont sighed happily as his daughter rode around the garage, relieved that he had taken the time to remove the last pieces of scrap metal from the workshop earlier in the day.  
After his wife had died, when Nadia was quite young, he never imagined that it was possible for him to be this happy again, but right now, at this very moment, he could feel things were changing for the better.  
Mallefont did not notice the sound of uneven footsteps approaching before it was too late. The front door rattled violently on its hinges. There were multiple bangs and Mallefont knew the door would not hold an assault like that for much longer. The dogs on the outside of the property howled.  
"Who is it?" Little Nadia asked as she rode up to him.  
Grabbing a hold of her shoulders and guiding her off the bike and behind the counter he answered in a whisper, "I don't know. Stay here and don't come out. No matter what happens alright?"  
With a nod Nadia sat down, making herself very small in the corner.  
Mallefont faced the door bravely as it was knocked down by a smaller man than himself.  
"What do you -" Words failed him as he was met with a firearm to the face.  
"Well I've got you now, ain't I Mr. Mallefont. Boss will be well pleased." the ruddy-looking man said with an unidentifiable accent. Unwilling to go without a fight Mallefont pushed the man out of the way and started to run away from the workshop. A single shot fired out into the night and Mallefont stopped where he was.  
"Nah it don't work like that Mr. Mallefont, you see, you're comin' with me."  
In a resigned silence Mallefont waited for the small, limping man to catch up with him. Relieved, for the moment, that he'd done a last service to his daughter for her birthday. He'd saved her.

* * *

"So are you coming tomorrow or not?"  
"To what?"  
"What do you mean 'to what'? I told you about the Queen's Birthday Celebrations weeks ago."  
"It's not her real birthday."  
Dr. John Watson's patience was slowly coming to an end, "_I know _it's not her real birthday. I just need to know whether you're coming tomorrow or not."  
"Why do you need to know now?"  
"Because they want me to put a little cross in the box on this piece of paper if I'm bringing someone." John said slowly, attempting to calm himself.  
As he didn't get a response he leaned over the table and signed his name at the bottom of the piece of paper, "fine. That's fine. I will go alone tomorrow and no one will even notice that you aren't there."  
"I didn't say I wouldn't go." Sherlock Holmes, London's famous detective, lay on his couch facing the wall away from John. Sulking like a petulant child.  
John sighed as he took to the armchair opposite him. "Sherlock I know things have been winding down lately. But you're going to have to leave this apartment at some point. It's unhealthy being up here all the time. Even Mrs. Hudson wants you out of the house. You're driving everyone mad."  
Sherlock turned over to face him, "stop exaggerating." He grumbled.  
"I'm not." John protested holding up his hands defensively, "how long have you been wearing those clothes now? A week? Have you even moved from the couch?" He picked up the newspaper which lay beside Sherlock and checked the date.  
"Three days. And the couch is comfortable." He pulled the sheet around himself tightly.

John drummed his fingers along the arm of his chair until he got up again, made his way into Sherlock's room and returned with some fresh clothes. "We're going for a walk Sherlock, get up, put these on." He threw the folded clothes at the couch. They hit Sherlock's legs and fell to floor with a dull 'thunk'.

"No."

Grabbing his jacket and shaking it once, John looked over to Sherlock's back as he had again turned around. He was becoming a little bit concerned about his friend, but short of physically dragging him out of the house there was little he could do. John shrugged on the jacket and made his way to the door.

As he now lay on his back staring at the ceiling, Sherlock wondered if maybe, just maybe, John was right. Even though he hadn't been completely stationary for the past few days, he certainly hadn't left the apartment. He pushed the idea from his mind. Clearing his throat he looked toward the hallway door. He slid his legs over the edge of the couch and grabbed his clothes from the floor. A plan was slowly forming in his mind as he finally left his resting place. Perhaps a walk, he considered, wasn't such a bad idea.

* * *

**If you guys have seen the Walt Disney Movie - Basil The great Mouse Detective - you will probably recognise this story. This is my re-imagining of it and I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to review, whether it be good opinions or bad I'd love to hear them. **

**Cheers.**


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor John Watson did a double take as he rounded the street corner on his return to Baker Street. A girl no older than ten years sat shivering beside a large rubbish bin in an alley way. She appeared completely alone as she clutched a brown bag close to her body. Her entire body shaking as a fresh set of tears rolled down her dirty cheeks.

Hesitating John took a few steps forward. He stopped looked around for a moment and then made his way to her side.

"Are you alright?" He asked the girl quietly.

Looking up into the man's eyes she shrunk back. She needed help, she was completely lost, but at the same time she was indescribably scared.

"I won't hurt you," he reassured.

She swallowed her fear and held out a scrap of newspaper to the stranger. With a smile John noticed the deerstalker on the black and white picture in front of him.

"I'm trying to find him." Her voice was hoarse from the tears.

Thinking back to his housemate on the couch John was suddenly very glad that he had stopped for her. A case, no matter how mediocre, would hopefully pull Sherlock out of his ridiculous rut.

"What do you need Sherlock Holmes for?"

Her eyes welled up again as she attempted to get the words out, "My daddy, he's been – " she paused as her teeth chattered, "- he's been taken."

Frowning, John removed his outer layer and handed it to the girl. The jacket was nearly twice her size, but for the first time in a while, she was warm. She gathered up the bottom of the garment so it would not drag on the ground as she stood.

John held out the newspaper clipping to her and pointed to himself standing beside Sherlock in the picture. A large, healthy grin overtook her face, "that's you!" She exclaimed, "you know Sherlock Holmes."

With a nod John handed back the paper, "and I'll take you to see him. But I'll let you know now that Sherlock's a little bit different." He made his way out of the Ally way with the girl in toe. "What's your name?"

"Nadia Mallefont. How is he different?" With her initial shyness and apprehension melting away she again became the same courageous, curious girl her personality allowed her to be.

Under his breath John muttered something which sounded to Nadia a lot like "Oh I'm sure you'll see," as he attempted to contemplate how he was going to explain to the child's presence to his friend.

As they stood out the front of 221B Baker Street John realised, annoyingly, that he had left his keys on the coffee table inside the apartment. Knowing that there was no way that Sherlock was going to come down from the couch he knocked on the door hoping Mrs. Hudson was still within the confines of the home.

The door opened immediately to show the composed grey haired landlady.

"I'm so sorry. I left my keys on the table." He made his way into the hallway with Nadia hot on his heels. "I'm so glad you're home, otherwise we would've been stuck in the cold for ages."

"No no it's fine." Mrs. Hudson passed her eyes over Nadia, "I wanted to thank you anyway. How did you get Sherlock to finally leave the apartment?"

Taking the jacket from Nadia's shoulders he looked to Mrs. Hudson, "I didn't." He hung the coat up on the hook, "I mean he was still here when I left." His brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

"Well, he's definitely gone now, unless the couch ate him. He left the room in a right state too. Clothes everywhere."

John walked up the stairs and entered their main living room, forgetting about Nadia briefly as he looked at the now vacant couch.

Mrs Hudson walked past them into the kitchen and put on the kettle, "and who do we have here then?" She asked John whilst looking at the Nadia who was now curled up in the arm chair.

As though realising how rude he'd been he introduced the two, "Nadia, has a missing father and she's come to see Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson turned to make a cup of tea, feeling sorry for the girl. There would be no way Sherlock would take on a missing person case. Even if his work load was non existent. She pulled the remnants of a cake out of the mostly empty fridge and placed it on a plate. Without hesitating she gave it to the underfed Nadia, who began wolfing it down at the earliest opportunity. "Fank ooo," She said through a mouthful of cake.

As John pulled the mobile phone from his pocket he heard the front door open. He listened carefully as someone ran up the stairs. "John!?" Came the call from the hall.

Sherlock Holmes entered the room and whisked past them all into the kitchen. He threw a bullet casing at his friend as he pulled the microscope out of the cupboard. John, catching the item with one hand, turned it over carefully.

"Well, what do you make of it then?" Sherlock stated as he watched John examining it.

"Am I supposed to know what this is about?" John looked over to Nadia and smiled apologetically.

Sherlock pulled the original bullet out of his jacket pocket and held it up to the light. "I went for a walk to see Lestrade." He placed the bullet under the microscope and looked through it, "but someone had other plans for me."

He looked up and then strode straight past Nadia as he picked up three random cushions from around the room. Arranging them in a stack on the couch he pulled out a handgun from the back of his trousers.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to catch on, "No Sherlock, they're my good-" a gunshot rang through the apartment. "-pillows". She finished as looked at the mangled mess Sherlock had left behind.

Whilst he searched for the remaining bullet Sherlock found and threw the empty casing to John, which he again caught.

"This is Nadia," John attempted to gain the detective's attention.

"Not now." A victorious smirked crept over his face as he found what he was searching for. Laying down the handgun beside Nadia, without acknowledging her, he went back to his microscope.

"Her father has been taken from her." John tried again.

Completely ignoring him Sherlock compared the two bullets side by side. "Come on." He mumbled under his breath.

"Sherlock? The girl -"

"I know!" Sherlock yelled angrily as he tossed the two mismatched bullets aside. "the child has been looking for me for the past two days after seeing my name in the newspaper, her father, a mechanic, was taken from her. She wants me to find him. But I don't have time." He sat himself on the couch and stared off into the distance. His hands placed in a prayer like position under his chin.

Nadia was directly in Sherlock's line of sight. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare. It was as though he could see straight through her soul. Nadia jumped as he finally spoke. "Who took your father?" His eyes had finally adjusted so that he was actually looking at her.

"I don't know." She said quietly.

Sherlock got up and looked out the window in thought. "Didn't you see anything?"

The girl knelt up on the chair to make herself much taller and closed her eyes, "I saw a man, he was really short. He couldn't really walk very well. He limped." She opened her eyes and saw Sherlock's face only inches away from her. He had knelt I front of her and was assessing her.

"Good," Sherlock drew out the word as he looked back to John, "the man who took Nadia's father was the shooter this afternoon. One of his men."

"Moriarty's?" John asked suddenly intrigued.

"The bullet doesn't match the one from this gun, so that means he had more than one firearm on him." Sherlock continued, "I have good news for you Nadia. You stay here with Mrs. Hudson. John and I will find your father."

A smile lit the girls face as she ran over and hugged the only part of Sherlock she could actually reach, "thank you."

With a slight grimace Sherlock removed her from his legs and made for the door. Nadia made to follow him as John gathered some items together.

Sherlock looked down at the determined girl as he waited for John, "you stay here." He insisted.

She walked straight past him, "where are we going first?" she asked.

John shrugged as Sherlock looked at him in frustration. "You're not coming," he repeated again.

As they walked out onto the street Nadia was still in their company. As they got in the taxi Sherlock had hailed Nadia still remained with them. Sherlock, unable to cope with the child's presence, stared out the window, with a scowl, as they made their way to New Scotland Yard.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr Mallefont was always known by friends and family as a strong man. Anyone who looked at him could see that he was physically strong, in his line of work it was necessary. But after his wife died, from that point onward, he was known for being mentally strong. As he stopped working and stared at the bars of his own prison cell, he realised that this time, strength would not help him. He was broken.

He grabbed his tools and busied himself as he heard approaching footsteps.

"Oh are we having fun there Mallefont? Nice and comfy in your new little home?" The voice belonged to none other than his captor, Jim Moriarty.

"No, you do realise –"

Waving the words away Moriarty continued, "no, no I don't really care. As long as you have this ready by tomorrow."

"It's not possible."

With a strained smile Moriarty turned to leave, "well you'd better make it possible."

"And if I don't?"

Without turning around Moriarty held a small handgun up above his shoulder, " if not…then we'll play a little game."

Mallefont got up and stood directly behind the cell bars, the tools of his trade still in his hands, "this is ridiculous, you'll never get away with this!" He turned and threw a wrench toward the car he had been working on. It bounced off of the vehicle, leaving a dent in the bonnet.

Moriarty turned, fire in his eyes. He took a deep breath and smiled cruelly, "you have no idea how brilliantly this will work. And if not, I'll make sure to meet your daughter. She may not have any fingers, toes, arms or legs by the time we've finished with her. But it'll make me feel a little tiny bit better. What do you think Mallefont?"

"No, you wouldn't. You can't."

"How about you try me." Moriarty's face was only inches away from the cell door. "Get it done!" He yelled. His voice echoed around the small room as he turned and left.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a mobile phone, dialled a few quick numbers and waited for an answer. "Nice to hear you're awake for once, you lazy, useless-" he stopped regained composure, and continued "I need you to go back to the mechanic's shop. Mallefont's daughter might still be there and we might need her to motivate our guest." There was a pause as someone on the other end of the phone spoke. "Yes I mean now! Of course I mean now!" Hanging up he wiped a hand over his forehead.

He shook his head as he made his way onto the busy London streets. Incompetence was abundant, he was only lucky that only a select few people new who he really was. Nothing could trace him back to his crimes. At least, that's how _he_ saw it.

* * *

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade sighed as he stared at the blank computer screen. "There's nothing. Nobody saw or heard any gunshots from the general area. Are you sure you were already on Baker Street when it happened?"

"Of course I'm sure." Sherlock replied irritably.

Nadia, unable to keep still, looked around. Intrigued by the various pieces of paperwork and items situated around the office.

"Someone has obviously done the leg work already. No witnesses." Sherlock said more to himself than anyone else in the room. "Clever." He smiled and then made eye contact with John, who was frowning. "What?"

Interrupting what was about to become an argument on morals Greg Lestrade thought aloud, "we'll go back to Mallefont's Bodyworks. See where it all started."

"No, they're missing _her_." Sherlock inclined his head to Nadia. "They'll go back and look for her there." Realising what he had said Sherlock looked up at John with a smile. The thought of meeting Moriarty again both excited him and made him apprehensive at the same time. "Actually," he said slowly, "maybe we should go with Lestrade."

"But you just said that you wouldn't come." Lestrade said putting his head in his hands in confusion.

"Yes that was a few seconds ago, listen to what I'm saying _now_. Keep up." Sherlock looked down at Nadia in thought.

"So we can leave Nadia here and get going now then. Would Nadia be ok to stay?" John asked Lestrade.

"Yeah of course, we've got a kids room down-"

"No. She'll be coming with us." Sherlock cut in.

"C'mon Sherlock, she can't come along. You said yourself they'll be after her." The Detective Inspector's head was starting to hurt. Sherlock often had that effect on him.

"I'd like to come along." Little Nadia finally piped up. "I want to help."

Sherlock smiled as though he'd finally won the argument. Before the others could say anything he steered her in the direction of the door, "good. We'd better start heading off then."

John held onto Sherlock's jacket as he tried to leave. "You're offering her up as bait?" He whispered angrily to him.

"You'll look after her, she'll be perfectly safe." He seized the jacket from John's fingers and pulled it away. "She'll be fine, you'll see." With a small, conniving smile he awaited John's reaction.

"Sherlock no, this is extremely dangerous for her."

Sherlock Holmes' joyful mood faded, "this is the only way and you know it."

With a sigh John nodded. The Detective gestured for him to go through the door after Nadia, "Don't Sherlock. Just. Just don't."

Sherlock walked through the door and for an odd moment he believed that John might not have been referring to his manners.


	4. Chapter 4

As the silver, unmarked police car pulled up beside the footpath at Mallefont's Bodyworks Lestrade's mobile phone began to ring. Apologising, he took it out of his pocket and answered it. Sherlock was already halfway out of the car when Lestrade gestured to John to go ahead without him.

Nadia lead the way as she skipped along excitedly. Her childish naivety made her believe that her father was as good as found already. She was about to pass through the gap in the wire fence that she had made some years ago, when Sherlock stopped her.

"Someone's already been here today." He ran his finger carefully along the sharp edges of the makeshift entrance. As he withdrew his hand John noticed a small amount of blood shone on his finger. It was not his own, but the previous intruders'.

"We're not far behind them." Sherlock smiled at John, narrowing his eyes, suspicious of his surroundings, as he went through the fence first.

Nadia rushed forward as two large dogs bounded towards them. She opened her arms and they bowled her over, licking her face. She giggled as she got up quickly, her back covered in mud. Sherlock grimaced as he watched her and turned to John.

"Don't let her out of you're sight." He wandered off, taking in their surroundings. Taking particular notice of the stacks upon stacks of vehicles which lined the outside of the fence line.

He touched the side of the office building carefully as he saw more fresh blood smeared across brickwork.

John smiled as Nadia finally untangled herself from the dogs. He knelt down to her height, "and what are their names?"

"This one is called Basil and this one –" Distracted by the crash behind them Nadia looked up to John. " -what was that?"

Sherlock was no where in sight, so John took it upon himself to investigate, "you stay here. Don't move." Hoping that Lestrade might've lost his way to find them, he searched around the back of the cars to see where the noise came from.

"John!" Hearing Sherlock's panic he knew what had happened before he even saw it.

He rounded the corner only to see Sherlock sprinting towards the cars, looking up he noticed the limping man. He was holding on to Nadia's light frame with a single hand and a gun was aimed straight at her. Blood from a cut on his bicep trickled along his arm.

Sherlock leapt up onto a car bonnet in pursuit dodging scrap metal the goon was kicking down at him. They climber higher and higher until Nadia and her captor were standing on a stack of cars, ten high. Nadia kicking and screaming in his arms, had no effect. Sherlock forever gained distance between them until they were within his grasp. However, the limping man was not a complete fool. As though Nadia was some kind of rag doll, he began to jump up and down on the car until he gained what he desired. It was as though someone had flicked a switch. A fission ran through the carefully balanced cars. Noise erupted all around them. John, who had been left watching down below, had to cover his ears as car alarms screamed bloody murder. The alarms coupled with the weight from above seemed to be too much for the mechanic's yard. At first it seemed as though it would pass over, but one by one things began to tumble and fall. At first it was only small items, tail light covers, bulbs, spare parts and wires of every colour, but as the balance shifted the cars began to crash down towards Sherlock. The limping man was now in line with the top of the fence and he was no longer alone. John and Sherlock should not have expected any less from Moriarty, and yet, it still surprised them as Nadia was thrown over the edge of the fence and fell safely to the ground below. Men on the other side of the fence caught her and awaited their colleague. As another car fell down towards him, Sherlock lost his footing, grabbing hold of whatever his hands could find. Eventually he came to a stop as the bumper bar of an old style Ute held his weight. Moriarty's henchman stumbled forward as the shift had also surprised him, the gun from his hand fell with a clatter. As though he couldn't resist, the limping man approached Sherlock, who was desperately trying to haul himself back to where he had come from, and stared down at him as though trying to process the moment in his small brain.

"Mr Moriarty won't be happy that you're involved. Oh no he won't." The man shook his head side to side vigorously. He slid onto the bonnet of the car which made it tilt slightly further towards the ground. He leaned his metal capped boots on top of Sherlock's hands lightly. "But Mr. Moriarty don't need to know."

The briefest of moments slipped by as quick calculations passed through Sherlock's brain, the height would not kill him, but the outcome would be less than pleasant. Looking below he smiled.

"No he _doesn't_ need to know." Sherlock agreed and corrected slyly before letting go.

Shrugging the man did not watch as Sherlock made a very quick journey to the ground. Jumping over the fence and landing as thought it was no large feat for him and joined his crew.

"You didn't look after her! Nadia's gone because you lost sight of her."

John sighed as he rushed forward to where his friend had fallen. If Sherlock was already complaining he couldn't be too badly injured.

Just as expected he had made his way into an old open top convertible. The leather seating had been long ripped and torn away, but had provided the perfect landing pad.

John stretched out his hand, which Sherlock took, and pulled the detective out of the car.

Wiping the dust off his pants Sherlock glowered down at John, "I told you not to leave her alone."

Guilt ate away at John instantly, it _was_ his fault. Who knew what cruel, horrid things were in store for Nadia Mallefont.

Watching John's face drop Sherlock's tone lightened ever so slightly, "Come on. We'll see where Lestrade's been all this time."

On cue John's phone began to ring. Before he was even able to answer Greg Lestrade's voice could be heard on the other end.

"I'm so sorry I had to leave. They wanted me back at the station. Did you guys get on alright."

As they left the property through the gap in the fence, John explained the situation to the Detective Inspector. By the time the conversation ended he and Sherlock were in a taxi on their way home. But with a shimmer of sudden realisation and hope John remembered something he had done earlier.

Plucking the gun from his jacket pocket he held it up to Sherlock delicately.

"That man, who got to Nadia. I picked it up when he dropped it."

Sherlock glanced over, initially irritated until he saw what John was holding.

"Sometimes John." He paused briefly trying to find the right words. "Sometimes you have these moments where your brilliance exceeds the fact that you are simply a very ordinary man."


	5. Chapter 5

Mallefont finally looked up from his work when he heard a faint noise. He stopped moving altogether, trying to distinguish the sound through the silence.

"Daddy!"

He stood and stared at the entrance to his cell. Waiting. Listening.

"Daddy!"

Knowing now he had not misheard he rushed forward, "Nadia!"

Light flooded his dank prison as the door to the world outside opened with a flourish. As his eyes adjusted he could see the outline of his daughter approaching him, however, she was not alone.

"Well isn't this little reunion sweet." Jim Moriarty released his grip on Nadia. She ran forward to her father, the bars on his cell prevented them from touching.

"Daddy, you're hurt." Nadia looked up at her father's broken nose, the dried blood had well and truly flaked away.

"I'm not darling, I'm fine."

Moriarty cast his eyes over Mallefont's work and sighed, "well I'm hoping she will provide a little bit more motivation for you to finish on time. Otherwise I'll start thinking of ways to make things much more interesting around here."

He grabbed onto the back of Nadia's shirt and reeled her in. Struggling like the fish on the end of the line, Nadia returned to Moriarty's side.

"We'll leave you to it then. And I hope you remember our last little chat. I'll make sure I take good care of your little girl. Until tomorrow Mallefont."

"Don't you dare hurt her."

With a wicked smile Moriarty swept out of the room with Nadia in his grasp, "well we'll just have to wait and see won't we."

Leaving the room Nadia looked back sadly, "Sherlock will come and find you, he will rescue my dad and then he'll come and get me." Defiantly, she struggled back and forth to no avail.

Without looking down, he strode forward, dragging Nadia along behind him, "oh, he will try to find you. That's kind of the point. But I do hope Sherlock's not too late for his little party."

Moriarty stopped suddenly as the limping man appeared from around the corner. "I did good Mr Morairty didn't I? Bought you the girl an' all. Now I'm 'ere for my money. 'cause you said that I'd get a little somethin' somethin' for my troubles."

"I did, didn't I." Jim Moriarty's smiled as though he only just remembered a funny little joke. Without even a hint of hesitation, he pulled the gun from his pocket and shot the man to the head once.

His dead henchman fell to the ground, becoming an untidy bundle at his feet. Nadia, completely in shock, stood watching the place where the limping man had previously been. Unable to comprehend what had just happened.

* * *

"Do you have anything?" John asked impatiently, hovering over Sherlock's shoulder.

Not even a hint of acknowledgement was given to the Doctor to appease his consulting detective was consumed in his work, checking and re-checking the facts in his head with the ones on the page in front of him.

"Anything at all? Because I don't know how this is actually going to help us. It'd just be nice –"

"John, shut up or go away."

Almost sulkily, John sat down opposite Sherlock and stared down at the gun, "do you know who the dealer is?"

Glancing up briefly, the detective gave the doctor a look of pure warning before returning to his investigations.

Three cups of tea, half a carton of milk and several hours later, Sherlock looked up with a smile, "of course I do John." The Doctor had disappeared from the table. "John!?" Realisation hit him that he was suddenly quite alone. "John!" He repeated even louder.

"Yes. I'm right here. I was just asleep." John peered around from the edge of his armchair, looking back towards his flat-mate. He rubbed his eyes warily and got up, stretching as he did so.

"We're going out to a pub"

John smirked subtly, "well I never thought there'd be a night when I'd hear you say that."

"I'm not making this some sort of regular social visit. The firearms dealer is the back of a seedy pub in Park Street, on the side of the Thames"

"How would you even know –"

As though he couldn't wait to speak his mind Sherlock set off on his findings. "Only a handful of dealers sell that model of Glock pistol in the first place. Most of their supply goes to the Metropolitan Police. The ones that are left over are sold simply on the black market. We can then minimise the amount of dealers in London further, by seeing that this gun is already at least six years old, however hasn't been cleaned during that time at all. Someone does not take care of their tools. Very dangerous. There are also smatterings of salt on the inside of the barrel. One could say that it came from anywhere, but that's unlikely. It's sea salt. Though the Thames has got mixtures of fresh and salty water, there is enough to suggest that this gun has been close to the river for a long period of time. There is only one dealer near the river Thames which has been operating for six years or more. And they are in Park street. It's small and mostly goes unnoticed, but it's there. But before we go there we need to get changed, we need to blend in."

John's shook his head and looked over toward Sherlock, believing that, no matter what disguise Sherlock chose to wear, he would never be able to 'blend in'.

* * *

**Apologies to those who ****_do_**** live in the UK. I don't know what Park Street in London is actually like. I just used Google maps and selected a street close to the Thames. By the looks of it, it might even be one of the more affluent areas, but oh well, you get the general idea. Feel free to read and review, always happy to get any kind of feedback. Cheers :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Ridiculous was the only way to describe it. Bloody ridiculous. John fumed silently at the outfit Sherlock had insisted he wear. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for the sixth time.

"I am not leaving here like this!" John bellowed out the door, he pulled the black-blue striped shirt over his head and threw it back on the bed.

Sherlock appeared and leant up against the door frame to John's room. He was impeccably dressed in a black button up shirt and new grey wash jeans, "why not?"

"Well it's alright for you isn't it. What you're wearing doesn't make you look like someone stuffed you into little kids clothes."

"Surely it's not that bad. Can't you make it fit. We're late as it is."

"No I can't just magically make it fit." He pulled on the shirt for a second time, "do you see what I mean Sherlock? I can't wear it." The shirt was about one inch short off the top of his jeans.

"Doesn't look any different to what you usually wear." Sherlock replied without looking.

Ignoring the comment John went to his cupboard pulled out a second shirt, replaced it with the one he had been wearing and walked out of his room.

The rain sparkled as it fell through the light and onto the street. It did not take Sherlock long to find the bar he had been searching for. The lights, the noise, everything which should have given it away, did not. Or so it seemed, until someone from the inside pushed the doors open. The drunken fool fell from the venue with the aide of what appeared to be a large intoxicated male. John supposed that the large man had been considered security at some point, but that time had passed several beers ago.

"Is it always this loud?" Sherlock yelled to his partner as they walked through the wooden doors.

John stared at him and nodded once, wondering for a moment, whether Sherlock had ever been to a proper pub before.

They took to a pair of filthy stools at the crowded bar. Noticing his new customers the bartender strode over to them immediately. Stifling a grin John watched the man's large belly proceed him before finally squashing up against the counter opposite. "What can I get ya?"

"Two beers." John said casually as Sherlock sat up uncomfortably, staring at the roaring crowd. Just before the bartender turned to leave Sherlock whirled around. "My friend, he told me, that if I was having a few problems I could come here. He said you could help." He gestured in a firing gun-like motion with his thumb and forefinger.

"No idea what ya talkin' about." The bartender walked off, leaving Sherlock in an even fouler mood then he had been in initially.

"Why are there only men here. Seems odd doesn't it." Sherlock mention bitterly leaning in towards John, attempting to have a private conversation.

Looking around the room John was surprised to see that Sherlock was right. Each place had its own calibre of clientele, but it was odd to see an entire pub filled with a single gender. Two large beers were placed on the counter top and John gladly handed over money. It had been a long day and he wanted nothing more than to sit there, drink his beer, have Sherlock find out whatever he needed, then go home and finally sleep. It would be an uneasy sleep with Nadia still in the hands of Moriarty, but it would be a very grateful sleep. He took a long drink from his draught before glancing over the Sherlock, who looked down with great distaste at the amber liquid. Sherlock paused as he smelt it and looked up suddenly alarmed as he watched John finish off his latest sip.

"What's wrong?" John looked over.

"Don't drink that." The Detective swiped the beer from John's hand carefully, "it's been drugged."

John's ability to speak was temporarily disabled as he stared at the pint Sherlock was still holding.

"Now what? What's going to happen to me? Should we go?"

Taking another sniff of the beer Sherlock shook his head, "it's not going to kill you, you'll feel fine after a couple of hours."

"Perfect, so I've just got to wait until-" As the music started John's sarcasm faded.

The gentle sound of piano keys cut through the air and the entire venue went into complete silence. John raised his brow as the stage at the very back of the pub lit up. Two spotlights, red and blue in colour, were positioned just in front of a tattered red velvet curtain awaiting the act.

With the drug slowly taking effect John smiled dopily as a tall, slender woman took to the stage. Though she made an effort to appear younger, she was quite obviously aged in her early thirties. Her long blonde hair trailed down her back and her deep blue eyes shone as she looked up at the crowd shyly.

It was as though the crowd was under a spell. Sherlock stared around at the men, aware that every person in the was infatuated with this woman. He groaned under his breath as he watched John leave his side and make his way over to a table closer to the stage. He turned to pick up the beers from the bar, so as not to appear suspicious, and was met with a large unhealthy grin from the bartender.

"My beer not good enough for ya?"  
"Not really, no." Sherlock crinkled his nose in disgust and stared up at the large man defiantly.

As the woman began to sing the bartender pulled a single silver revolver from underneath the counter and pointed it directly at Sherlock. No one else seemed to notice nor care what was going on at the bar. Sherlock turned to look at John in an attempt to get his attention, but his focus was most definitely else where. Four more scantily clad women had joined the first on stage and it was becoming more and more apparent to Sherlock, that by the end of their act none of them would be wearing very much. The bartender tapped the counter just once and made a gesture for Sherlock to stand up and move. That's when the singing stopped. The entire crowd erupted into outrage as the five women disappeared behind the curtain. John, in his drunken state snuck around the side of the stage hoping to get a second glimpse.

"Do I have to do _everything_ myself." Sherlock muttered to himself before throwing the pints of beer into the bartenders face and running. With that, an all out brawl erupted in the pub.

"John!" Sherlock weaved his way through the fighting crowd to find his friend.

He could only just see the soles John's shoes as the Doctor made his way up the stairs to the rear of the stage. "John!" Sherlock called again.

Then there was darkness.

Sherlock opened his eyes, a dull thumping sensation came from the back of his head. He placed his hand to where the pain was coming from and withdrew it, finding it to be wet with his own blood. Wiping it on his jeans, he got up from the floor unsteadily. A small cloud of dust from the floor followed him. The Detective stared up at what appeared to be a grey ceiling. He staggered to the side and bumped his shoulder against the wall, he leant against it and slid back into a seated position. Staring toward the front of the small room and realised he was in a cell. He shielded his eyes from the light as someone opened the door beyond his cell and let in a stream of light.

"Mooorrrnnniiinnnggg Sherlock. Had a rough night?" Sherlock look up immediately, any sense of pain forgotten. The voice had bought him back to his current predicament. A voice which belonged to none other than Jim Moriarty.


End file.
